


this crude matter

by gayvincreel



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen, Now no longer a preview!, Planet Dagobah (Star Wars), written pre-season 2
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-20
Updated: 2020-12-20
Packaged: 2021-03-10 21:21:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,750
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28193886
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gayvincreel/pseuds/gayvincreel
Summary: Din crash lands on Dagobah.
Relationships: (pre-), Din Djarin & Grogu | Baby Yoda, Din Djarin & Luke Skywalker, Din Djarin/Luke Skywalker
Comments: 11
Kudos: 295





	this crude matter

**Author's Note:**

> me, writing this after watching season 1 in January: luke will clearly never be on the show but I gotta have a scene of him calling the kid baby yoda

Inch by inch, Din lowered the battered and broken Razor Crest until he felt it hit the swampy ground, the impact sending vibrations up into the very bones of his feet.

He tightened his grip on the controls.

He held his breath.

Nothing happened. 

He loosened his grip.

The child cooed.

Then everything happened at once.

With a loud, squeamish squelch, the trees around them seemed to shoot up into the skies as the Crest began to sink. Din scrambled for something, anything, that might get them out of the sticky and swampy situation, but all the controls did was shudder and jolt, panicking as much as he was. Jabbing in half a dozen buttons resulted in half a dozen nothings. The ship was sinking, and sinking fast, the swamp swallowing them up until the base of the window was disappearing under the murky surface. One more button and the engine jumped and thrummed beneath his hands: Din’s heart leapt for a split second before the ship began to sink, if anything, faster than before. 

“Shit,” Din said. 

He stood and scooped the child up into his arms in one, fluid motion, grabbing the supply kit hanging at the entrance into the cockpit - no time to grab anything else, he needed to escape with their lives. The ship jolted once again, differently this time, like it had hit something though Din heard no crash, nor felt the vibrations of one in the metal underneath his feet.

It was with a groan of protest that the entry hatch slid open, the swamp sucking greedily at the ship. The child babbled when Din shoved him out, placing him down on the roof far less gently than he would when not under the danger of drowning: he was followed by the kid’s bag before Din shimmied out himself, emerging into fog and damp, musty air, and feeling the absence of his jetpack on his back like a missing limb. He didn’t even have the bag he used to carry him around: only marshland, and a paternal panic that never got any easier to deal with. 

As he spun around, looking for the closest bit of swampland for which to leap, the ship dropped at least half a foot, almost sweeping his feet out beneath him: thank the Maker that the child only cooed, thinking it a game instead of a real fear of them drowning in the middle of nowhere. No second was spent on whatever the hell it was making the ship shudder beneath his feet: the more he thought about it, the less likely they’d make it out alive. The first outcrop of rock that Din could see he leapt for, running the too-few steps of what remained of the ship’s roof, pushing off, and praying for rain.

The child squealed.

In the air, he spun.

When he landed, it was with a nasty thud. 

The jolt of pain it sent up his leg was easily ignored, but how his back met the ground with an almighty clang was not, neither by him nor, no doubt, every single beast with teeth on this hell planet. The child had fallen on the comparative cushion of his armoured chest instead of the solid rock of the outcrop as intended: groaning, Din opened his eyes to see the kid grasping onto his helmet, staring at him with wide eyes as if the mask could tell him if its wearer was alright. He lifted his heavy arm and patted the kid’s head, wincing as it sent another stab of pain down his back.

“It’s okay, kid,” he wheezed. “I’m alright. Just took a bit of a tumble.”

One hand still wrapped around the kid, Din pushed himself upright with the other, just in time to see the very top of his ship sink beneath the surface of the swamp. 

“Shit,” Din said.

The child cooed. 

Din looked down at him. “That better not be your first word.”

The child ignored him, picking at his robe with his little green hands. Din looked from him to the world they’d found themselves in, taking it in as the adrenaline pulsing through his system died down. Din flicked his helmet into heat-mode, scanning the scrub for any signs of life. There was the odd burst of heat, probably from whatever counted for bugs on a planet as isolated as this, but nothing bigger than a few mouse-sized creatures scurrying about on the ground. No signs of anything humanoid. Satisfied, he flicked it off, and moved onto the next problem on his ever-growing list of problems he found himself accumulating.

The Razor Crest had crashed in the middle of a swamp, a sea of shit in a sea of trees. A short furrow blasted into the landscape broadcasted the path of the shuttle as it came down, digging a trench through the forest: trees snapped off like they were nothing more than twigs, reduced to stumps and splinters. What he could still see of the ship above the surface of the swamp was battered and dented, crumpled like a child's toy in the fist of a giant. It was a wonder that they survived the crash at all.

The more Din took in, the more he understood the kid’s distress: the air surrounding them was thick and swampy, almost like breathing underwear. Although he was not sure of the psychology of the child’s species, his little lungs must be struggling. Din certainly was struggling to draw in breath, although he wasn’t sure if that was the air, the mask, or the pain throbbing beneath his armour. A bead of sweat trickled down the back of his neck. Din looked back to the child, still picking at his robe. The heat, that was it. At least the air on Tatooine was dry. Din was beginning to feel boiled alive in his armor. If it was unpleasant to him, then an infant of his development stage must be out of his mind with discomfort. 

“Come on, kid,” Din said, reaching for him. “Let’s get you out of those robes.”

The child reached pitifully back, unresistant as Din pulled him into his lap and began peeling off the outer layers of his robes. He had such small limbs, twigs of things: there were things Din’s hands hesitated over more, hyper-aware of how fragile the kid was beneath fingers used to rough work. 

“There we go,” Din said at long last, tucking the robe over his shoulder. The child looked strange, dressed only his underclothes, but at least he seemed more comfortable. “Wish I could do the same.”

The child cooed in a manner that suggested he didn’t care much about Din’s needs now that he was not so hot. 

“Fair enough,” Din said. 

Knowing the kid hadn’t injured in any way was somewhat a relief: assessing himself for injuries, he didn’t seem much worse off: plenty bruised up, but no broken bones, no burns, no major lacerations, just a bad back that reminded him faintly of his father complaining of the same thing, lifetimes ago. With the kid still cradled loosely in his arms, Din began to look around again, the severity of the situation beginning to dawn on him: with the sounds of animal life slowly began to fill the forest, it was impossible to ignore that he and the kid were alone on an alien planet, with no idea what kinds of dangerous wildlife might be interested in a lone human - or it’s young.

He needed to get moving. Water, shelter, something, _anything_.

Checking to make sure he still had a knife tucked securely into his boots, he carefully clambered to his feet. The usual animal chatter continued, eerie to his ears, as he began to move through the swamp, blaster in one hand and kid in the other. Though he tried to tread quietly, it wasn’t as easy as it sounded. Leaves rustled, sticks broke, bugs buzzed angrily at his passage, and more than once he heard something scurrying away as quickly as its little legs would carry it. The kid stayed quiet in his arms, a small blessing, his already wide eyes widening further at the new sights around him and long eyes twitching at every new sound. If Din had more than the corner of his eye to spare, he was sure he could’ve seen his tiny nose sniffing. 

It happened very fast, as all things do. 

One half-second, Din was making his slow and steady crawl through the swamps, circling the ship in search of some sort of shelter; the next, he had his blaster and hackles raised, and his world focused down to the singularity of an accurate shot - before him stood a young man, pale of skin and hair, wearing dark clothes and only one glove, and holding in his mismatched hands the strangest thing that Din had ever seen, including what was tucked up under his other arm.

It was - well, it was a sword, Din figured that much, but it’s blade was forged of pure light like a - a _laser_ sword, it was a laser sword. Probably shouldn’t have taken him this long to figure it out: even that was more than enough time for the stranger to have laid eyes on the child. Din had pivoted at the slightest provocation, drawing the child closer into his side until he was blocking him with most of his body, but there was still enough of the kid’s long ears poking out for the man to catch more than a glimpse.

“Is that a baby Yoda?” the young man said, like there wasn’t a blaster aimed at his head.

“A baby _what_?” Din said, but the man was already receding his - sword?

Din kept his blaster firmly trained on the stranger as he clipped his even stranger sword to his belt and dropped to one knee, eyes almost as wide as the kid’s staring back at him.

“A baby Yoda,” the man replied. “I never thought I would…”

“What was that?” Din asked. “That thing you were holding.”

“A laser sword."

Go figure. 

“And how do you know what he is?”

The man’s eyes had not left the child, the kid as equally transfixed by him. “I knew one of his kind, a very long time ago. Met him on this very planet, in fact.”

Din lowered his blaster a little. “How long ago?”

“About five years, come to think of it," the man continued, thankfully unaware of the alarms going off in Din's head. "Feels like forever ago now.”

Five years. That was before the Empire began to collapse - that was when the Empire began to collapse. Din narrowed his eyes. The man’s own eyes flicked to his face like he had seen his expression change: how his gaze seemed to bore through his mask made Din feel more vulnerable than he had in a long time, and when he stood his movements were easier and more fluid than most. Din raised his blaster once again.

“You’re a bounty hunter, aren’t you,” the man said. It was not a question.

“Something like that.” It was not a question, so Din did not give him an answer.

Unmoved, the man asked, “Who’s your bounty?”

He was standing in perfect balance, gloved right hand folded over his left, as poised to attack as dust being blown in the wind, and yet - and yet. Din had thought him a young man, but before his eyes he had aged from a greenie barely out of his teens to an entity a decade older in years and a century older in experience. 

“That is no concern of yours,” Din said. 

“It’s a quiet planet,” the man said, a little wry. “Can’t blame me for wanting to ask.”

“If you were the bounty, you wouldn’t be alive to ask.”

The man nodded down towards the kid, curled into his side. “Is he your bounty?” 

His voice was calm, and even, almost warm, but there was a surety in his slim form that set Din on edge. Even with a blaster aimed at his face, and his blue eyes boring right through Din’s mask, the man’s focus never seemed to shift from the child, always aware, like a ship’s beacon locked onto a location even if it’s priority was the asteroid field around it. 

“Who would want to hunt him? Or you, for that matter.”

Like, Din realized, he always had an eye out for the kid. 

“You’re the hunter, you tell me,” the man replied. Din tightened his hand on his blaster and said nothing. He did not move an inch. The man’s head tilted to the side a little, watching. "There are some who might question what a man of your creed would want with a child of his ilk. If not for payment, why have him?" 

“I found him. I protect him. That’s all that needs to be said.”

The child cooed. The man looked down at him, and Din felt a little more able to breathe until he smiled. It caught him off guard. It lit up his face. It made him seem younger, that smile. 

“He’s very fond of you,” the man said. The air seemed to shift as he continued to speak: Din hadn’t realized how still the man had been until his stillness drained into the air, leaving only warmth behind in his voice. "Forgive me my concern. I've had some bad run-ins with bounty hunters in the past. I believe you mean the youngling no harm." 

As the man continued gazing at the kid, Din wondered what was in his mind: what he recognized, what he didn’t, what he would be willing to share. From the few words they’d shared, Din got the impression he would probably have to do some sharing of his own.

"This other you spoke of - this Yoda,” he asked, the word sounding strange in his mouth. “His kin - what happened to him?"

The man sighed: one of grief, controlled and old. "He passed away.” 

He gazed out over the swamp that surrounded them, seeing sights that Din would never see even if he spent forever and a day in this accursed place, a fondness left unburied by grief in his eyes.

“I come here to be close to him.”

Din lowered his blaster a little. 

The child cooed again. 

It was a smaller, sleepier sound. Now that the stranger was no longer paying direct attention to him, it seemed he had lost interest, yawning and curling into Din’s side like a child would a parent: readjusting him on his hip, a sudden thought occurred to him.

“You say he’s the only one of his kind you’ve known,” he began. “There’s no chance that - ”

“If you’re about to ask,” the man cut in, “whether Master Yoda copulated, I’m going to have to stop you right there.”

When Din looked back up at him, the man’s nose was crumpled in faux-disgust with the air of someone grown accustomed to laughing at his own jokes. It was the least strange expression he’d seen on his face so far, and made the stranger all the more strange for it.

Quieter, the man added, “I think he’s fallen asleep.”

Din looked back down at the child: his ears, drooping, his eyes having slid shut entirely. 

“I'm trying to return him to his kin,” Din said, as quiet as he could. “If you have any knowledge of his species, I would greatly appreciate it.”

“I know some,” the man said carefully. “More than most.”

He regarded Din for a moment more: he had gotten used to the chatter of the animals, and the buzz of the insects, but Din wasn’t sure if he would ever get used to those eyes.

“It’s getting dark,” the man said, gently enough that it wasn’t a flat-out refusal. “I’ve set up camp near Yoda’s old settlement. It’s not far, and I know this area well, I’ll be able to take you back to your ship in the morning.”

Behind them, the swamp bubbled. The man glanced over Din’s shoulder.

“Well,” he added. “What remains of it.”

Din hesitated.

The child snuffled in his sleep.

With his back aching and ship sunk, he knew there were few better cards on the table before him. 

Holstering his gun, Din shifted the kid in his arms so he could carry him in both and nodded. 

"Lead the way," he said.

**Author's Note:**

> began back in january, abandoned because pandemic, begun again, dinluke rise


End file.
